


between realms of reality

by besanii



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Demons, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Kitsune, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-14 15:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5748811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besanii/pseuds/besanii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What are we to do with you,” she said fondly.</p><p>“Ship me off to yet another exotic location, I suppose,” he replied. “The old hag can’t wait to get me out from underfoot.”</p><p>Tanner cleared his throat loudly behind them. His face was a curious mix of emotions: a frown marred his forehead, deep creases that had seen too much stress and anxiety over the years; his mouth, however, twitched faintly with the beginnings of laughter. James adjusted his tie.</p><p>“Wish me luck, Miss Moneypenny,” he said. “I don’t expect to get out of this one alive.”</p><p>Eve snorted. “Get out of here, James.”</p><p> </p><p>Or, the one where Bond discovers he has a kitsune for a Quartermaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	between realms of reality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Only_1_Truth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/gifts).



> This is for the 2015-2016 00Q Reverse Bang challenge. Thank you to the wonderful MinMu for organising the event - it was my very first one, and I've really enjoyed the experience! I was partnered with the fabulous Only_1_Truth, who created the amazing piece of artwork you will see below. Thank you for your patience and encouragement, even when I thought I wouldn't finish on time! You have been a wonderful partner to work with.
> 
> Characters and elements have been borrowed from Yu Yu Hakusho, but familiarity with it is not needed.

A flash of silver light streaked across the night sky, landing with a burst beyond the trees.

She looked around to see if anyone else had seen it, but the streets were empty; the blinds in the nearby windows were drawn shut, the rooms within dark and lifeless. Gathering her coat about her, she started in the direction of the light, one hand reaching into her jacket for her gun. The click of her heels against the pavement echoed too loudly for comfort; she breathed an inward sigh of relief as she reached the grassy area in the park.

The light had faded to a dull glow, a far cry from the blinding brightness just moments earlier. She trod carefully over the undergrowth towards it, holding her breath. Her heart hammered in her chest, so loudly she could hear it pounding in her ears, until she forced herself to take slow, shallow breaths to calm herself down. Her knees trembled; she clenched her teeth and forced herself to keep moving, reaching out to the trees for support.

A low, pained groan came from just ahead. Startled, she slipped her gun from its holster and disengaged the safety, darting behind the nearest tree. She flattened herself against the trunk, raising the gun to shoulder height.

“Who’s there?” she called over her shoulder. “Show yourself.”

Another groan answered her. Whoever it was, they were likely to be seriously injured. She took a cautious step to the side, pivoting her body as she went, gun pointed toward the source of the voice. There, in the shadow of the trees mere metres from where she stood, was a dark figure backlit by the eerie blue light. Her arms shook; she clamped them tight to her sides and raised the gun higher.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Not Japan then,” the voice said. There was a long pause, during which she opened her mouth to demand the shadow identify itself, but before the words could leave her lips, that same voice returned. “Are we in England?”

She started back half a step to hear her own clipped accent parroted back at her. “London.”

Another pause. “Well, at least they won’t expect to find me here. Do put down your weapon, won’t you? Guns will do you no good here.”

“Only if you show yourself,” she replied. “Can’t bloody well trust someone I can’t see now, can I?”

“Such language,” the voice tutted, the barest hint of a chuckle tickling at the edges. “Very well, then. Step back.”

She stepped back toward the tree she had been hiding behind. The dark shape rippled and shuddered, stretching upward and contorting into the semblance of a human form. The blue glow expanded to encompass the figure as it changed, masking its features, contracting only when the transformation came to a halt. It rested in the shape of a blue sphere, resting in the palm of a young man with flyaway black hair and sharp, pointed features.

The young man rolled his shoulders with a wince.

“Blast,” he swore in that same reedy voice as before. “This isn’t going to last long.”

“You’re not human.” He smiled. She kept her gun trained on him. “Then what are you? Where did you come from?”

“Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t from this world?” he asked slowly.

“What do you mean, ‘not from this world’?” she demanded. “What other world is there? And what the bloody hell are you?”

His grin was wild and feral. “Kitsune.”

A fox spirit. “There’s no such thing. They’re just stories.”

“All stories have basis in fact,” he replied. “It’s only a matter of believing.”

He lifted an eyebrow and looked down behind him, where something moved in the darkness. She did a double take when the tails – _five_ tails – fanned out behind him. Her knees buckled and threatened to give way beneath her in shock, tightening her grip on the gun to keep them from visibly trembling. The tails vanished as quickly as they’d appeared when he staggered forward, and she noticed the four deep gashes along the left side of his bare torso. The sphere in his hand fell to the ground, bouncing and rolling across the grass, coming to rest by her feet.

“You’re injured?” she asked, concerned despite herself.

“Compliments of my pursuers,” he said, wincing. The hand covering his side came away bloodied. “It won’t take long to recover, if I can find a place to hide.”

She hesitated. A strange, naked man in the heart of London was hardly the most trustworthy of people – although, by his own admission, he wasn’t human _at all_. But he was injured, weak and without weapons on hand. The young man watched her, his eyes intent and thoughtful, studying her every move in silence. She lowered her gun warily.

 “I can help you. But first, I need to know who you are and who was pursuing you.”

The grin he gave her was sly and sharp. “I am whatever you want me to be.”

“Be serious.”

“I have no name,” he told her. “None that holds any meaning in this world, at least. You may call me whatever you like.”

She raised an eyebrow. “How can I know to trust you then?”

“I suppose you’ll just have to find out.”

Her foot nudged the sphere; its glow had dimmed, and it was warm to the touch when she picked it up, pulsing gently in her hand.

“What is this?” she asked. “What does it do?”

“Something that must always be kept safe,” he assured her. His eyes were transfixed upon it. “It holds great power and can never fall into the wrong hands.”

“And this is what your pursuers are looking for?”

He nodded.

 “Well you’re in no state to protect it.” She placed it carefully into her purse, out of sight. He opened his mouth to protest. “If this is what I think it is, then it’s safer stowed away until you’ve regained your strength.

“I know a place,” she continued. “Not far from here. Here, take my coat — you can hardly walk around London at this time of night without clothes.”

She slid the coat from her shoulders and watched as he draped it over his own. It was a snug fit — he was almost half a head taller with much longer limbs — but as it sufficiently concealed his nakedness, she was hardly about to complain. He tied a knot in the belt of the coat before looking at her expectantly.

“Thank you. I am indebted to you.” His voice was rougher now, more strained; one of his arms had come around to cover his injured side. “May I know your name?”

She paused, half turned to head back through the trees. He watched her, green eyes bright in the darkness.

“Mansfield,” she said finally. “My name is Olivia Mansfield.”

 

 

 

 

 

The elevator doors slid open and James Bond stepped out, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp, dove-grey suit. He nodded to the guard by the door on his way over to the carved mahogany door at the other end of the short corridor; the man snapped a smart salute in return. His eyes followed Bond as he walked, equal parts admiring and awestruck. Bond paid him no mind.

Just as he was reaching for the door knob, the mahogany doors swung open to reveal Bill Tanner, looking relieved and more than a little harangued.

“Ah, Bond. Good, you’ve arrived just in time.” He adjusted his tie with twitching hands. “Everyone’s here, we’re just waiting on you to begin.”

“What is this, a party?” Bond asked, following him through the door. “And I didn’t even bring a gift, how terribly rude of me.”

He winked at Eve, sitting at her desk by M’s door. She smiled back, all mischief and wicked humour.

“The party was yesterday, James,” she told him severely. “We were quite put out when you didn’t put in an appearance. I don’t suppose you’re here to ask for forgiveness?”

Bond grinned. “I’m on my hands and knees, can’t you see?”

She stood up, walking around to lean against the edge of the desk, and folded her arms across her chest.

“What are we to do with you,” she said fondly.

“Ship me off to yet another exotic location, I suppose,” he replied. “The old hag can’t wait to get me out from underfoot.”

Tanner cleared his throat loudly behind them. His face was a curious mix of emotions: a frown marred his forehead, deep creases that had seen too much stress and anxiety over the years; his mouth, however, twitched faintly with the beginnings of laughter. James adjusted his tie.

“Wish me luck, Miss Moneypenny,” he said. “I don’t expect to get out of this one alive.”

Eve snorted. “Get out of here, James.”

Tanner pushed open the door and stepped aside to let Bond through first. Bond strode into the room, stopping just short of the large mahogany table and the plush leather seats before it. Q sat in one of them, shoulders tense; he nodded once at Bond in greeting. M glared at him over her reading glasses, mouth pursed in a thin line.

“Double-oh Seven. Finally.”

“Ma’am.”

She set aside her glassed and papers, gesturing to the empty seat beside Q’s. “Have a seat.”

He obeyed, settling into the soft leather with an easy grace. Beside him, Q shifted in his own seat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, darting a glance over at Bond from the corner of his eye. When Bond caught his gaze and smirked, he averted his gaze quickly, colour rising to his cheeks. M looked between them; Q’s cheeks darkened further under her scrutiny, but he remained silent. Unamused, she opened one of the folders on her desk.

“There was a security breach last night,” she began. “I’m sure you’ve already heard about it, so I’ll keep it simple. An item of great importance was taken. You’ll be retrieving it.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “I don’t do retrievals.”

“You’ll make an exception for this one.” M handed him the file. Clipped to the inside cover was the image of a blue sphere, glowing silvery blue. He blinked; it must have been a trick of the light. “This is what the Japanese call a Jewel of the Stars. Encased inside is the power of a thousand- year-old fox spirit.”

He snapped the file shut, scoffing. “You may as well pull the other one. Fox spirits and jewels of power? This sounds like a badly written fantasy novel.”

“Oh and I suppose you haven’t been guilty of reading a few trashy novels in your day—”

“You don’t need to believe it, you just need to retrieve it.” This, surprisingly, was from Q. He was bristling in his seat, clutching the armrests and braced as if to pounce, jaw set. “If the jewel falls into the wrong hands, they have its immense spiritual energy at their disposal, not to mention a powerful fox spirit at their beck and call.”

“You believe this, then?” Bond asked him. He settled back in his seat and opened the file again to skim the contents. Q sighed.

“I do,” he said, “because it’s true.”

He sagged into his seat, all the tension drained from his person, looking wrung-out and weary. Bond regarded him for a moment, anxiety prickling like needles in his gut at the dark circles under Q’s eyes, the sunken, sallow cheeks. He turned back to the file.

 _Hoshi-no-tama_ , the report read. _The vessel of power for the Go-bi Kitsune._

“It was stolen by a man called Yamanami Gozaburo,” M said. “A businessman with connections to the yakuza. We don’t know what he wants with it yet, but we’re not waiting to find out either.”

The photograph on the next page was of a thin, lanky man with a pointed chin and heavy set eyebrows getting out of a sleek black car. The expression on his ruddy face was pinched, cheekbones unnaturally sharp on either side of a flat, wide nose. Bond couldn’t see his teeth, but from the was his thin lips stretched, he was willing to bet that this Gozaburo had fangs. The mental image was amusing, if nothing else.

“We’ve got you both tickets to Kyoto,” M continued. “One of ours will meet both of you there. Bond, follow the Quartermaster down to Q-branch to collect your equipment. You leave tonight.”

Both Bond and Q stood with a muttered “yes ma’am” — Q’s was notably more subdued than Bond’s. She waved her hand at them dismissively.

“Now get out of my office.”

 

 

 

 

 

Q was noticeably anxious on their way down to the labs. His shoulders were rigid, right hand clutching the strap of his satchel as if it were a lifeline, eyes averted. He made hurried goodbyes to Tanner and Moneypenny on their way out of M’s office suite, already halfway back to the lift without even looking back. Bond exchanged curious looks with both of them, only to be met with half-shrugs and shakes of the head, slipping inside the lift just before the doors closed.

He leaned one shoulder against the mirrored wall, folding his arms across his chest; across the narrow space, Q kept his gaze fixed pointedly at the lift buttons. His mouth moved restlessly, biting and releasing his lower lip. Occasionally he would take a breath as if to speak, before his mouth would snap shut again. Bond felt his own mouth quirk upwards.

“Interesting briefing, wouldn't you say?” he asked, keeping his tone deceptively light. “M said something very curious towards the end.”

Q shifted his weight from one leg to the other and coughed. “Really? I hadn’t noticed, myself.”

“Oh yes, very curious,” Bond all but purred. His grin widened when the tips of Q’s ears darkened. “She said ‘both of you’.”

“She did.”

Bond cocked his head to one side, eyebrows raised. “You don’t strike me as the field work type.”

“Only when the situation calls for it,” Q admitted, still not facing him. “And this is a special case. The asset cannot be obtained by normal means. I have devised a way to safely extract it from its current confinement, but it requires careful handling and direction.”

“I see.”

Q pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He kept his hand there, obscuring the lower half of his face, the pink flush spreading down his neck and across his cheeks. A flutter of excitement blossomed in Bond’s chest at the sight, and a rush of fondness warmed the smile on his lips. He made a show of turning slowly to face the door and suppressed a chuckle when he saw Q reaching down to adjust the collar of his horrendous blue shirt. They spent the rest of their time in the lift in silence.

When the lift chimed gently, the tension seemed to melt right off Q’s shoulders. He straightened his posture, adjusted the frame of his glasses, and strode through the doors with a confidence that belied his awkward discomfort only moments before. Bond followed him dutifully down the corridor, glancing briefly at the figures in lab-coats moving beyond the floor-to-ceiling plexiglass walls on either side, obscured by a wide frosted strip, until Q paused before a set of heavy glass doors.

He pressed his thumb into the fingerprint recognition device on the wall. The little red light flipped over to green with a cheery _blip_. “In here please, Double-oh Seven.”

“After you,” Bond replied, reaching out to hold the door open. Q quirked an eyebrow in his direction. “I insist. Quartermaster.”

The lights on the other side blinked to life as soon as they stepped through the door. Unlike the hustle and bustle of the other labs, this one housed only three long benches against walls lined with steel shelves. As Q made straight for the bench at the far end of the lab, Bond wandered over to the shelves on the right, where a mass of tangled wires spilled out of a box labelled HEX CAPS. It rattled ominously when prodded, so he dutifully left it alone in favour of running his fingers along the barrel of a half-finished machine gun on the bench.

“Hands off, Double-oh Seven,” Q said sharply. “That one’s not finished.”

“You’ll need someone to test it for you when it’s done,” Bond replied. He removed his hand from the gun nevertheless and turned to Q with a smile. “I can wait.”

“Unfortunately for you, that particular firearm has been commissioned for Double-oh Eight.” Q held up a small leather case. “Standard issue. Walther PPK six-millimetre short, a radio and an earpiece.”

Bond took the case with an irritable sigh. “Hardly anything to be excited about.”

“My equipment are not toys,” Q told him. “They are specially designed tools and weapons to assist you on missions. If you want excitement, I’d suggest you look elsewhere.”

He glared, hands on his hips, until Bond snorted with laughter and shook his head, tucking the case away in the pocket of his jacket. Still side-eyeing Bond, Q bent over behind the table with a grunt. He resurfaced a moment later with a wooden box the size of a milk crate and placed it on the bench. Bond watched as he struggled to lever off the heavy lid, which gave way to reveal an assortment of strange items he’d never seen before. He reached inside and pulled out a strip of yellow paper, marked with blood-red symbols.

“Are we doing some sort of voodoo?” Bond asked, putting it aside and pulling out a long thin stick with folded paper diamonds hanging from one end. Q snatched it back from him.

“Not voodoo,” he said, placing it carefully on the bench. “There are supernatural forces at work here, unlike anything you’ve ever faced before. These are monsters and magic you’ve never been trained for, so you’d do well to pay attention.”

“And I suppose you have experience on this subject?” Bond asked.

Q pulled out a long, wooden sword, polished until the smooth blade gleamed. He twirled the sword by its hilt, over and around his wrist in quick, practised movements, and caught it again with little effort. Bond felt a smile tug at his lips.

“Well then.” Q tossed the blade to Bond. “Shall we get started?”

 

 

 

 

 

Kyoto was unseasonably warm for this time of year, Bond decided, draping his coat over one arm while he waited for Q. Autumn was fast fading into winter, and yet the stifling humidity pressed down upon them as soon as he’d stepped off the train at Kyoto Station. And yet despite the sweat trickling down into the back of his neck and into his shirt, the people around him were dressed in long sleeved shirts and cardigans. He watched them milling around the crowded station, catching the curious eye of several passersby through the tinted lenses of his sunglasses; he stuck out like a sore thumb amongst them, standing head and shoulders above most with his close-cropped blonde hair. Too easy to spot, to mark, to target.

The clock struck midday. He shifted his feet, planting them shoulder-length apart, his hands on his hips, eyes searching the crowd for any sign of Q. A group of university students brushed past him, sneaking glances in his direction and giggling behind their hands.

“Look at that foreigner,” one of them said in a stage whisper, “doesn’t he look cool?”

They took his lack of reaction to their obvious appraisal as unfamiliarity with the language, and continued to discuss his appearance in rapid-fire Japanese. He ignored them for the most part, although he occasionally picked up an unfamiliar phrase or two with his rusty Japanese.

“Got yourself some admirers already, Bond?”

Q had his carryall over one shoulder, mustard-coloured cardigan draped across its length and his shirtsleeves pushed back to his elbows. If his tie were any looser around his neck it would probably fall off; the thought tugged the corner of Bond’s mouth into a reluctant smile as he turned.

“Something to pass the time,” he said. “Feeling a little hot, are we?”

“How is it twenty four degrees in autumn?” Q grumbled. He ran a hand through his hair, the sweat plastering his curls flat against his head. “The sooner we get indoors, the better.”

“This is nothing, trust me,” Bond said, gesturing for Q to walk ahead. “Kyoto’s in a basin. If we’d been here even a month before, temperatures would have been close to thirty.”

They exited the station and crossed the street to the bus terminal. Q paused and checked the number on the sign.

“Route twenty eight,” he said, glancing down at his watch. “This is it.”

Bond surveyed their surroundings. “Any idea who we’re looking for?”

“An old acquaintance of mine,” Q replied. He was tapping away on his phone and barely looked away from the screen to answer. “Lives just outside the city.”

“Does he have a name…?”

“Hmm? What — oh.” Q looked up, adjusting his glasses. “Kur — Minamino. He’s somewhat of an expert on our current predicament. M thought it best if we made use of his knowledge given the special circumstances. Ah, here he is.”

He raised a hand in greeting to the man walking towards them from the other side of the bus terminal. The newcomer — Minamino, Q had called him — was dressed in sensible slacks and a short-sleeved button-down, his long auburn hair pulled back in a loose braid at the base of his neck. He smiled and held out his hand.

“Hello, my name is Minamino Shuichi,” he said. “Double-oh Seven, I’m guessing?”

Bond managed a tiny smile.

“Right in one,” he said, taking the proffered hand. “What have you got for us?”

“It’s probably better if we go somewhere more private,” Minamino told them. He turned to Q with a wider smile of recognition. “Hello again, Ka—”

“It’s Q,” Q said quickly, sticking out his hand. Minamino shook it, amused.

“Alright then, Q. Double-oh Seven. Come with me.”

 

 

 

 

 

Minamino took them north, past the mountains and into the thick of a bamboo forest. It was much cooler here than in the city centre, which was a welcome change, but as Minamino led them up the winding pathway through the looming trees, Bond could feel a haunting presence in the air around them, as if they were being watched through the trunks and from between the leaves. He shuddered when a cool breeze brushed against the back of his neck, darting a quick look over his shoulder.

A few steps ahead, Q was running his hands across the smooth green trunks as he walked.

“It’s beautiful here,” he said dreamily. “I’d almost forgotten.”

“I never knew you’ve been to Japan,” Bond said.

Q hummed. “I’m quite fond of Japan.”

Minamino chuckled. “It’s like home.”

He looked back at Q and Bond would have been remiss not to catch the significant look exchanged between them. After a moment’s pause, the tension drained from Q’s shoulders and he gave a wane little smile.

“Yes, just like home.”

They continued up the pathway until they reached a small two-storeyed cottage nestled in a concealed glen. Its doors and windows were closed, its front porch swept and pristine, even the undergrowth beneath the house had been neatly trimmed. Minamino made his way up the front steps of the house; when Bond moved to follow, Q held out a hand to stop him.

“There’s a barrier,” Q told Bond, searching the air above them. “Protection spell. He needs to grant us permission to enter.”

Minamino smiled. “You haven’t forgotten.”

He reached into his pocket; Bond dropped his bag and reached for the gun in its holster, blood thrumming in his ears. A hand slipped into his, shaking him out of his reverie. Q stepped into his space, cool fingers pressing against his palm, his other hand resting against the lapel of Bond’s jacket, just above the holster. Bond turned his head; Q held his gaze, his firm expression belying the gentle restraint of his grip.

“He’s bringing the barrier down,” he said. “Just watch.”

Minamino pulled out a tiny seed, balanced between two fingers. then, with a smirk, he sent it whizzing off to the left. He must have misfired, Bond thought as he watched it fly towards seemingly nothing — until it ricocheted off an invisible wall. The air around it cracked and rippled as if a curtain had been ripped clean through by a bullet, and Bond caught glimpses of something shimmering in the air, before disappearing entirely. He looked to Q for an explanation.

“That was the seal,” Q told him. “It’s used to create the barrier. Destroying it dismantles the barrier, but you can only do it from the inside.”

“Safety precautions, you understand,” Minamino said. He stepped aside and gestured for them to come forward. “Welcome, please do come in — and watch your step.”

Bond and Q exchanged looks — Bond’s wary, and Q’s schooled into an expression of careful neutrality, despite the tension in his jaw. It was only when Q’s grip on his hand tightened and he nodded minutely did Bond move forward.

“I don’t trust him,” he muttered. Q laughed under his breath.

“He’s not too bad,” Q tried to reassure him. “A little eccentric, maybe. And we need his skills.”

He extracted his hand from Bond’s as they entered the cosy living room, stepping away and putting distance between them. Bond let him go without a word. They joined Minamino at a large wooden table where Q set down his bags and started setting up his laptop while Bond took stock of the sparsely furnished room. Aside from the one window facing the front of the house and the door, there were no other obvious exits.

Bond took a seat in one of the chairs, next to Q’s temporary workstation. Across from them, Minamino was unfolding a large sheet of paper and laying it flat on the table.

“Blueprints of the Yamanami Corporation building,” he said in response to Bond’s questioning look. “There’s no digital copy.”

“But we’re about to make one,” Q added. He lifted a long, sleek machine from his bag and plugged it into his computer. “I’ll be in your ear the whole time, but you should memorise the quickest route just in case.”

The scanner beeped and whirred, crawling across the page as pages of text flew across the screen of Q’s laptop. When it can covered the entire page, Q set it to one side. The onscreen text continued to scroll rapidly, but a dialogue box had popped up with an inching blue status bar.

“Okay, it’s rendering now, so we should have a working map in a few minutes. We can get a 99 per cent accurate layout of the building from this.” Q looked up from the screen to find both Bond and Minamino staring at him. “What?”

Bond shook his head. “Nevermind. How did you manage to get a copy of the blueprints? I can’t imagine a company that is secretive enough not to have a digital copy would just give paper ones out so easily.”

“I stole them.” Minamino shrugged. “It’s one of my other talents.”

An elbow jabbed into Bond’s ribs; Q gave him a hard stare. He had stopped typing, but his fingers hovered over the keyboard as if caught in mid-thought. Bond wisely said nothing, pulling the blueprints towards himself for closer study.

 

 

 

 

 

Bond looked around the lobby with its whitewashed walls and low ceilings. People dressed in sharp, smart business wear milled around, clustered around the lifts in groups, barely paying any attention to the two foreigners standing in their midst. Most were on their phones, either deep in conversation or head down and staring intently at the screen, while others conducted discussions in hushed tones. Bond took off his sunglasses and slipped them back into his chest pocket.

“Bond,” said Q’s voice in his ear. “Fifth floor access is only available from a separate elevator at the end of the fourth floor corridor. I’m transferring the access code to your phone as we speak. I’ll meet you up there.”

The lift doors slid open. He winked at the closest security camera overhead as he joined the crowd filling up the tiny space. By the time he’d reached the fourth floor, the lift was almost entirely empty, save for two women; they made a right as they exited and turned down another corridor. Bond paused. Once their footsteps had faded and the corridor was quiet, he headed left.

“You’re looking for a plain white door at the end of the corridor,” Q told him quietly.

“Secret lift,” Bond mused. “How clever.”

“Not so clever if we could break in so easily,” Q replied. “That’s the door. You’ve got the access code on your phone, so just touch the screen to the scanner and it should open.”

Bond looked for something that would resemble a security scanner, a magnetic swipe, or any other electronic lock. The door and walls on either side were frustratingly empty.

“There’s nothing here,” he said, running his fingers along the door jamb. He tried turning the handle. Still nothing. “Are you sure this is the right door?”

“Positive,” Q said, sounding confused. “Have you tried the walls?”

“Short of waving my phone around like an idiot looking for reception, yes.” He stepped back to study the door again. “Hold on.”

“Did you find something?”

“Just testing a theory.” He brushed his fingers against the door handle. It was oddly warm beneath his touch, almost as if — “Ah. Got it.”

He pulled out his phone and touched the screen to the handle. It beeped once; something inside clicked. When he tried the handle again, it gave way easily, revealing a small room, scarcely bigger than a broom closet. In his ear, Q chuckled.

“Nice catch,” he said. “All right, the room we’re looking for should be on the fifth floor. There’s no recorded electronic security past this lift aside from cameras, but I would advise caution nevertheless.”

Bond hummed, pressing the button for the fifth floor. The lift shuddered and started moving. “I’m always cautious.”

“Ha, if that were the case, my job would be much easier,” Q groused. “You are a veritable pain in my backside.”

“If only I was,” Bond said, half to himself.

“Very funny, Bond, get back to work. Once you get outside, you’ll need to head down the corridor and turn right.”

The lift shuddered to a halt and the door unlocked with a click and a soft chime. There was a light knock on the door, a rhythmic series of raps, followed by another light knock. He opened the door, gun raised, and came face-to-face with Q and his ever-present satchel slung over one shoulder. The corridor behind him was otherwise clear.

“I thought they’d have better security,” he griped.

“Given that they’re likely using magic, I don’t think they really have a need for conventional security methods,” Q said drily. “There are two guards in front of the door. I’ll create a distraction.”

Bond rounded the corner, gun raised. “No need.”

The first shot got the guard right the temple with a soft _snick_ of the silencer, followed by a heavy thud as he went down like a sack of potatoes. The second shot landed dead centre between his companion’s brows as he turned to see what was happening. Q sighed.

“Or you could shoot them in the head,” he said, coming to stand at his side. “That works too.”

“It’s more interesting this way,” Bond replied, nudging one of the guard’s arms out of the way. “I thought there would be more of those magic and monsters you mentioned.”

“Believe me, I’d much rather doing it this way.”

“Come, Q, where’s your sense of excitement?” Bond chided.

Q ignored him in favour of studying the door. It was, for all intents and purposes, a traditional _shoji_ door made of wood and paper. He reached out to touch the thick _washi_ paper, tracing the edges of the polished wood frame with a frown. There were no tricks or traps as far as he could tell from touch and sight, although he wouldn’t rule out a jump scare if he opened it. And yet, when he pressed his palm flat against the surface, there was a tingle, a vibration —

“There’s a strange heat signature coming from inside — not human. Possibly a barrier.” Bond tensed. “We need to find the source.”

“There’s no time,” Bond said. “Can’t we just force our way through?”

“The explosive force would have to be greater than the strength of the barrier.” Q pulled away from the door. “We’d need to blow a hole through it, which would risk structurally damaging the building.”

“Is there a way to contain the explosion?”

Q turned to stare at Bond, adjusting his glasses. He broke into a grin. “There just might be.”

He dug through his bag and produced a tiny metal contraption, one Bond recognised as Q-branch’s miniaturised explosives, and stuck it onto the wooden doorframe. The little red light on its side blinked steadily while Q placed flat metal disc on the ground in front of them, motioning for Bond to step away.

“You should turn around for this,” he said.

“I’ve seen explosions before, Q.”

“Not like this, trust me.” Bond rolled his eyes and turned around obediently. “No matter what happens, do _not_ turn around until I say so.”

He could hear Q moving around and muttering behind him, punctuated by the sound of paper rustling — then silence. Just as he was about to open his mouth to ask if Q needed help, there was a crackle and a snap like a shorted fuse; the corridor lit up with a blinding silver light. His hands came up instinctively to cover his head, stumbling forward to distance himself from the explosion.

But nothing came. The light vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. He got to his feet, dazed.

“You can turn around now.”

The door was in shambles. The debris from the explosion ended in a neat semi-circle by their feet curved away from the door. Electricity crackled in the air above the mess, sparks dancing across thin air right dangerously close to Q’s head. Bond made a grab for Q’s arm to pull him away, heart in his throat, blood pounding in his ears. There had been no sound, no heat, no force from the explosion — nothing, except that strange light—

“What just happened?” he demanded. “What was that?”

“A little something we’ve been working on in Q-branch,” Q said calmly, bending down to retrieve the metal disc on the floor. He held it up for Bond to see. “Remember the energy barrier at the house? We’ve been working on a way to emulate its effects to the best of our abilities — but it’s almost impossible to truly reproduce the results of magic. Not that we haven’t tried!”

He chuckled. Bond stared at him until he broke off with a little cough, cheeks turning red under Bond’s scrutiny, and returned the disc to his satchel. They picked their way through the debris into a Japanese-style room. It was largely unfurnished, save for the built-in shelves against the wall on the right, and another set of sliding doors. They were left partially open, allowing a glimpse of another room beyond it.

“I feel like I should take off my shoes,” Q muttered, shuffling across the tatami mats with his nose scrunched. “Tracking dirt all over the place like — _oh_.”

He stopped where he was, one hand resting against the edge of the sliding door, his eyes wide. Curious, and slightly concerned, Bond hurried over just in time to catch the look of wonder and reverence on Q’s face before he pushed the doors open. The second room was almost identical to the first; the only difference was the low table sitting inside an alcove on other side of the room.

Q moved as if being pulled, drawn to the box by a strange, magnetic pull. He stumbled on the last step and fell to his knees, breathing heavily through his mouth, eyes glazed. Bond was transfixed by the sight; he watched as Q lifted the lid of the box with trembling hands, just enough to catch a glimpse of a familiar silver light and the choked sound that left Q’s lips.

Bond whirled around, startled out of his reverie by the sound of footsteps. People were coming around the corner to investigate the mess they’d left outside. They wouldn’t have much time to get out of there if they didn’t leave at once.

“Q, we have incoming,” he said. “Q!”

When Q was slow to respond, Bond reached out and snagged his upper arm, hauling him to his feet. The box fell on the floor; Q gave a strangled cry of dismay when its lid fell off and the jewel tumbled out. It was pulsing rapidly, like a frantic heartbeat, until Bond scooped it up, marching them over to the door.

“Pull yourself together!” he said in Q’s ear. “I’ll get us out of here safe if you find a way out.”

He slipped his Walther from its holster and pressed them up against the sliding door. Q took a shuddering breath and scrubbed his face with his sleeve, readjusting his glasses. His eyes were red-rimmed and wet, cheeks flushed, but he kept quiet. Bond chanced a quick glance around the edge of the door. Q tugged on his sleeve and held up three fingers.

Three. Outside.

He held up his phone, where three dots were shown lurking around in the corridor. He then put his two index fingers side-by-side, pulled them apart, and gestured between the two of them.

“No,” Bond hissed. Q poked him in the chest and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “No, we are _not_ splitting up—”

Q held a finger up to his lips. For a long, tense moment, they waited to for the three hostiles to make their way inside; instead, they heard the crackle of a radio.

“They’re calling for backup,” Q whispered urgently. “We can charge out of here guns blazing, but when more of them come, we’d only give them an easier target. I’ll create a distraction — you take the jewel and make for the roof.”

“Q, _no_ —”

“That is an _order_ , Double-oh Seven,” Q said. Bond pulled back abruptly, eyes blazing, hot fury coursing through his veins, mouth open to retort. “Backup and recon is _my_ job. Yours is to get the primary asset to safety.”

Bond gritted his teeth and backed down. “You’ll need a weapon, at least.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Q said. He patted his satchel with a grin. “I’m well prepared. Now, we just need to get rid of the ones outside first.”

At Bond’s nod, Q stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply; the three men outside came charging in, only to come face-to-face with the Walther. Bond put a bullet into each of their heads before they could react, and they dropped to the floor with minimal fuss. Once they’d confirmed the corridor was clear, Q pointed Bond to the right.

“Head that way,” he said. “Turn right at the end of the corridor, and then left into the first corridor after that. There’s another lift that will take you to the roof.”

“What about you?” Bond asked.

“I’ll meet you up there,” Q assured him. “I’m just going to lay a few traps first.”

Bond took his hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Be careful.”

“Go do your job, Bond.” Q’s ears had gone pink again; Bond felt a fond smile tug on his lips. “I’ll be in your ear the whole time.”

 

 

 

 

 

Bond reached the lift without sighting a single person. He frowned. The men had definitely called for backup before Bond had taken them down. By all accounts, this floor should be swarming with people from all sides. But there was not another soul in the corridor as far as he could see.

“Q?” he said, holding a finger to his earpiece. “Something’s not right. It’s too quiet. I can’t see a single—”

A barrage of gunshots rang out, cutting him off in mid-sentence. An icy chill flooded his veins, pressing the air from his lungs in one fell swoop. The shots hadn’t just come from somewhere in the building. They’d been in his earpiece, which meant—

“Q!”

He took off, back in the direction from which he’d come. With every step he took, he could feel his pulse thundering in his temple, wiping his mind blank except for one thought: _Get to Q_. He rounded the corner, gun raised and ready—

—and slammed right into an invisible wall. The force of the collision sent him sprawling backwards. His ears were ringing, his vision swimming in and out of focus, limbs twitching and spasming as he lay on the floor, completely winded. His gun clattered to the ground beside him. He thought he heard someone shouting, or perhaps it was laughter; the voice was too distorted to be certain.

He had to get up. His limbs felt like unresponsive deadweights. Had to get up. He gasped; oxygen flooded his lungs as the spasms subsided.

“Q...” he managed to wheeze. “Q—”

“Ah-ah, you stay right there,” an unfamiliar voice crooned. Bond blinked the fog from his vision to squint at the speaker. “You’ll need some time to recover. That was quite a nasty collision.”

Ruddy face. Wide nose. Thick eyebrows beneath wild hair. His attacker grinned, thin lips stretching over sharp, pointed teeth. Bond pushed himself up to a sitting position, bile rising in his throat as the world righted itself. He took a steadying breath, one hand casting about for his Walther behind his back.

“You do have fangs, then,” he said. “And here I thought I’d be disappointed.”

Yamanami cackled. “You’re a joker, Mr Bond. I like you.”

His fingers brushed warm metal; the Walther lay within easy reach. He shifted his body towards it. The new angle allowed him to look past Yamanami to where Q was kneeling, held down by two guards. Yamanami followed his line of sight.

“Ah yes,” he said, smirking. “We’ve been looking for this one for a very long time. And now he has come to us voluntarily!”

Q struggled against his captors, twisting his body and trying to wrench his arms from their grasp. He received a blow to the cheek for his efforts; his head jerked back under the force of the punch, and he hissed in pain. Bond managed to get a proper grip on the Walther while Yamanami was distracted. He got to his feet and pointed it at the back of Yamanami’s head.

“Get away from him.”

“Bond, don’t–”

“Do you really think bullets will kill me?” Yamanami laughed.

It distorts his facial features grotesquely – his ruddy skin darkened to crimson, pointed teeth lengthening past his lower lip. But Bond’s attention was on the two long horns protruding from his mane of wild hair, and the wicked claws curved around a huge iron club.  His gun looked almost laughable in comparison.

“There’s a first for everything,” he said, keeping his voice neutral despite the growing sense of panic in his gut. “Would you like to find out?”

The bullets ricocheted off the barrier before they even get close to Yamanami, who shrieked with laughter and brandished his club over his head. Behind him, Q looked as close to rolling his eyes as someone who was pinned down on his knees could. He caught Bond’s eye over Yamanami’s shoulder, and mouthed four words very carefully:

 _Get ready to run_.

What?

Q closed his eyes. The lights started to flicker. Subtly, at first, before the fluorescent lamp above Q’s head exploded in a burst of glass and plastic. The explosion triggered a ripple effect; overhead, all the light fixtures shattered at once, plunging the corridor into darkness. Bond shouted, startled, until a firm voice rang out in his head: _RUN._

He cursed under his breath and ran, turning the corner just as a second explosion erupted, tearing the barrier to shreds.

 

 

 

 

 

His earpiece crackled to life two agonising minutes later, just as he burst through the door to the seventh floor.

“Double-Oh Seven.” He almost dropped his gun in relief.

“Q!” He ducked into an empty corridor and flattened himself against the wall. “You’re alright? What happened back there?”

“The distraction I promised. I escaped the other way while they were distracted. I’m at a secure location and the extraction team is on its way.”

Bond grunted. “That man – Yamanami. What is he?”

“Yamanami Gozaburo is what the Japanese call Oni,” Q said, his voice low and urgent. “A demon.”

“You have got to be joking.” Christ, and he’d thought this was going to be just another boring retrieval mission. “So how do we kill it?”

“We don’t,” Q said firmly. “The asset has already been secured. Your only task now is to ensure its safe return.”

Bond chanced a look over his shoulder. The brightly lit corridor was empty, its whitewashed walls pristine to the point of sterility, the hard concrete floor plain and unassuming. Seeing no one in pursuit, Bond moved further along the corridor until he found a tiny nook to slip into unnoticed. He tipped his head back with a huff.

“He’ll come after us regardless, now that he’s seen our faces,” Bond mused, checking the magazine. “He doesn’t look particularly bright. Better to–”

“No. Our mission is _only_ to retrieve.” Q’s voice was clipped. “Heads up. You’ve got three incoming.”

Footsteps echoed from around the corner just as he finished speaking. Bond held his Walther at the ready, arms tucked close to his chest and shoulder braced against the wall. When the footsteps drew near enough to his hiding place, Bond darted out in their path and delivered three headshots with deadly precision before they could open their mouths to shout. They crumpled to the floor with each soft _snick_ of the gun. He listened carefully for any indication that someone had heard; hearing none, he carefully lowered his gun.

“Q, get me out of here.”

He heard the sound of keys clacking at a rapid-fire pace, punctuated by the occasional click of a mouse. “There’s another stairwell around the next corner,” Q told him. “You’ll need to go up three flights to get to the extraction point. Rendezvous in five minutes.”

“Copy that,” Bond replied, already taking off towards the stairs. He kept his firearm lowered to the ground as he ran, darting quick looks over his shoulder as he rounded the first flight of stairs. He cursed the hard concrete floors and the way each step he took echoed loudly in the otherwise empty space; it would only be a matter of time before someone noticed the commotion.

He was proven correct when, upon reaching the final landing that led to the roof, he felt a bullet graze past his left ear. He dropped to the floor instinctively, gun already cocked and loaded, inching closer to the door as he continued to dodge bullets and return fire when he could.

“Bond,” Q said urgently in his ear. “The extraction team is less than a minute away. You need to get on the roof _now_.”

“Don’t you think I’m _trying_?” Bond said viciously. He took aim between the stair rails and fired a shot into one man’s shoulder. “I’m a little tied up at the moment.”

“You’ve got five men behind you, and more on the way,” Q told him. Bond rolled his eyes and took out the last of his assailants with a clean headshot.

“You don’t say.” He chanced the door handle once the coast was clear. “Alright, I’m going out.”

The roof was thankfully devoid of enemy ranks when he slipped outside into the bright sunlight. He shielded his eyes from the glare, searching for the promised transport.

“I’m on the roof,” he said, touching his earpiece lightly. “Where the bloody hell are you?”

“Look up.”

A deafening roar filled the air, announcing the arrival of the extraction team. He looked up to see Q waving at him from the open hatch of the black helicopter, dark hair whipping about under the pressure of the wind.  Bond reached for his outstretched hand, grabbing hold of his arm just above the elbow and feeling him latch on and pull. He hoisted himself onto the aircraft and sat, sprawled out against the wall, as Q slid the heavy door shut with both hands.

“How the hell did you get out here so fast?” Bond asked, chest heaving with exertion.

“I found a shortcut. I’m rather good with those. Evac picked me up just before you.”

Bond snorted, closing his eyes and relishing in the touch of the cool metal against his heated skin. He ignored the way his stomach dropped when they took off, intent on catching his breath, until Q crouched down beside him.

“Here,” he said, holding out a bottle of water, “you look like you need it.”

“Thanks.” Bond took long drink from it, and sighed gustily when he was done. He crushed the empty bottle in his hand. “For a second there, I thought you were going to say you used magic.”

Q paled and a curious – _guilty?_ – expression flitted across his face before he drew himself up with indignation.

“Don’t be absurd, Double-oh Seven,” he snapped. Bond held up his hands.

“I’m only joking, Q.” Except there was no way Q could have survived the second explosion from that proximity. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Just wanted to say – it’s fine, you know, if you did.”

Stunned silence.

“I, ah…thank you?”

Bond smirked. “I mean, as long as you don’t have fangs or anything.”

Q laughed nervously, fiddling with a parachute pack nearby. “Of course not. That would be ridiculous.”

They were interrupted by a frantic beeping from the cockpit. Both were on their feet and rushing over in an instant, just in time to see the rocket hurtling straight for them. Bond instinctively threw himself on top of Q –

The world erupted.

 

 

 

 

 

He was on fire.

Every nerve in his body screamed in agony, searing through flesh and bone. He opened his mouth to scream and inhaled smoke; it filled his lungs until the breath was forced from his chest and he was left gasping. His eyes watered and stung and he closed them against the blinding heat to no avail.

And then he was falling. The air ripped the last shreds of consciousness from him, tearing at his body as he plummeted hundreds of metres toward the ground. He was dimly aware of two arms clamping around his torso, pulling him against a solid body, before he slipped into darkness.

_“Bond. Bond – stay with me!”_

 

 

 

 

 

There was grass beneath his fingers, the damp coolness of soil against his blistered skin. The air was clean and crisp with every breath he drew into shuddering lungs, the constant dull ache settling bone-deep into his body. He groaned; a pained wheeze forced its way from his chest.

Bond tried to open his eyes, struggling against the stiffness of his body and the painful stretch of healing skin. Blearily, he could make out two figures standing not too far away, partially hidden by the shadows of the overhead trees. He strained his ears to pick up their conversation.

“–better off taking him to Kurama’s now –” a strange female voice said, before being interrupted by a more familiar one.

“He’s in no state to be moved.” Q sounded tired, and upset. “I have to do it now, or he’ll die.”

One of the figures threw up their hands in exasperation. “ _You’ll_ die if you do.”

“That’s a risk I’ll have to take, Botan.”

“You don’t have enough energy,” the woman – Botan – argued. “If you burn through the jewel, you’ll – and what if he wakes up and sees you? He doesn’t know yet.”

“He doesn’t,” Q agreed. “But I trust him.”

_What are they talking about?_

Bond closed his eyes when muffled footsteps tread softly along the grass toward where he lay. He allowed his breathing to even out until it resembled sleep, and remained still as those footsteps stopped directly beside him. He heard a rustle of clothing and grass as Q sat down beside him. Cool fingers brushed against his forehead and temple.

“Is he really worth it?” the girl asked, sounding much closer than before. The fingers paused against his cheek. The tenderness in Q’s reply tugged at something deep within Bond’s chest.

“More than you will ever know.”

He heard Botan sigh. “Alright. I’ll keep watch until you’re done. Then I’m getting Kurama.”

“Thank you.”

He drifted back into painless sleep with the feeling of long, cool fingers on his skin and a bright light behind his lids, head filled with questions.

 

 

 

 

 

The next time he woke up, he was on his back, slivers of sunlight filtering through the trees. He brought an arm up to shield his eyes from the glare, and paused. The skin had healed almost completely on the back of his hand and along his arm; aside from the faintest traces of pink, his skin was whole and unblemished. He sat bolt upright.

There was no pain. He flexed his arms, grasping at his legs and chest, and ran his hand across his face, where he could still taste the metallic tang of blood and burned flesh. Nothing but newly healed skin and the dull ache of sore muscles. The hair on the back of his head had been singed, but he was otherwise uninjured. How was that possible?

_They’d escaped from the building — there’d been a helicopter, an explosion and Q’s parachute —_

“Q!” He scrambled to his feet, looking about wildly. His heart hammered in his chest. “Q!”

A rustling in the bushes startled him; he scrabbled for his gun and, upon finding it missing, cast about for a makeshift weapon.

“Bond?”

Q came stumbling out from behind the trees, clutching the bark for support. His clothing was singed and torn, and sweat matted his hair and brow; his complexion held a worrying grey tinge. Bond dropped the stick he’d managed to grab and rushed over to support him around the waist before he collapsed on his feet.

“Q, are you alright?” he asked, lowering them both to the ground. He propped Q up against the base of the tree. “What happened?”

“I just need … a while to recover,” Q said quietly. His hands shook when he clutched at Bond’s arm. “We need to get back to the house before he finds us.”

Bond cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He’d lost his gun, his earpiece had likely fallen away when the helicopter exploded. They had no idea where they were and now no way to contact Minamino for backup. Q groaned, head thudding back against the tree trunk. Bond laid the back of his hand over Q’s forehead, stomach clenching with anxiety when Q shivered under his touch.

“You’re burning up.” He looked around. “I’ll go call for help.”

“ _No_.” Q shook his head, grabbing James’ wrist. “Don’t.”

“We need to get you somewhere safe so you can recover.” Q doubled over and curled in on himself, shuddering and shivering until Bond wrapped his arms around him to stave off the chill he himself could not feel. “Minamino—”

“He’s on his way,” Q told him. “Do you still have the jewel?”

“I do, it’s right here in my—” He reached into his jacket pocket for the pouch and handed it to Q, who shook it out onto the palm of his hand. “It’s intact, no damage. I haven’t touched it since we left that room.”

Q shuddered, bringing the jewel closer to his face. It had begun to glow brighter in his hands, washing over him with silvery light. He sagged in Bond’s arms, the jewel clutched tight to his chest as his body trembled and convulsed. Bond tried to keep a hold of him, until the convulsions grew too strong and Q fell to the ground with a groan.

“Q!” Bond reached for him, only to have his hands batted away. “What’s happening—!”

“Bond!”

There were hands restraining him, dragging him backwards. _Minamino_ , his mind registered dimly. He struggling wildly, staring at Q and he was engulfed with a blinding silver light. He fell back against Minamino, knocking them both to the ground. It was thankfully short-lived, fading almost as quickly as it appeared, leaving Bond to blink the spots from his vision and groping blindly in search of Q.

A thin, reedy cry rose from where Q lay. Bond froze, on his knees, one hand outstretched toward the source of the pained sound.

“Q…?”

But it wasn’t Q. Where Q had once been was now a five-tailed fox with pale fur in the same silvery shade as the jewel, which now lay on the grass between its paw. Dark green eyes — _Q’s eyes_ — blinked up at him. He recoiled. The fox bared its teeth; it struggled to its feet, hackles raised and tails lashing from side to side. Minamino pushed past him and knelt in front of fox, hand outstretched. It eyed him mistrustfully at first, but when it became clear that Minamino was not going to move any further, the tension left its tightly coiled body in increments; it eventually sat back on its haunches, regarding them with warily.

Minamino shuffled forward on his knees slowly, until he was close enough to gather the fox in his arms. It resisted at first, lip curling around a snarl, but let itself be picked up. It draped its head over Minamino’s shoulder to stare intently at Bond. He looked away, clenching his hands into fists.

“Bond, we have to go,” Minamino said, getting to his feet. He held out his hand. “I’ll need you to keep this for a while longer.”

The jewel sat in the palm of his hand. Bond took it from him reluctantly; his hand twitched as if to recoil from its smooth surface; the hairs on his arms stood up as goosebumps crawled up his skin from the point of contact. It had begun to pulse steadily like a heartbeat. Under the fox’s watchful stare, he placed it back into his jacket pocket.

“What happened to Q?” he demanded. “I’m not leaving without him.”

“Q is safe,” Minamino said shortly, already turning to walk away. “He’s right here.”

The fox peered over Minamino’s shoulder. Bond snorted disbelievingly. “You’re bloody joking.”

Minamino huffed impatiently. “You can either choose to take my word for it, and come with us back to the cottage, or you can stay here and wait for Yamanami and his men to find you — it’s only a matter of time before they track us here. You have no weapon, no backup except for us. It’s up to you, but I’m getting out of here.”

He strode away without another word. Bond followed.

 

 

 

 

 

They returned to the cottage in the mountains on foot, under the cover of the trees. It was a good four hours’ walk from where they had crashed, but they could not risk the chance of being spotted on public transport, especially not with a fox in their company. The journey was made in tense silence, for which Bond was thankful. They found his Walther lying in the grass several hundred metres away and the fact that it was still functional was a testament to the quality of Q-branch products. The thought sent a pang through his chest; he furiously pushed it aside to focus on watching their backs and keeping them out of sight.

The cottage was exactly as they had left it that morning. While Bond did a sweep of the surrounding area to be certain they had not been followed, Minamino carried the fox and the jewel indoors. Once he was satisfied that the perimeter was secure, Bond joined them upstairs, only to find that the door to the bedroom was locked.

Bond lingered in the corridor outside, back rigid and arms folded, jaw clenched. Long minutes passed until a sharp crack resounded throughout the house, and he raised an arm to shield his eyes from the sudden burst of light behind the closed door. He instinctively reached for the gun in its holster, shifting backward until he hit the wall.

The light dissipated as quickly as it appeared, and he blinked the momentary blindness from his vision even as he heard the sound of the door opening with a soft _click_. Minamino slipped out of the room rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, frowning. He found himself staring down the barrel of Bond’s gun.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Bond said. “What happened to Q?”

“That,” Minamino said, “was Q. He was injured, and he needs time to regain his energy without interruptions. Let’s talk downstairs.”

He started down the stairs with Bond hot on his heels, casting worried glances over his shoulder at the now-silent room. They made their way into the kitchen, where Minamino gestured for him to take a seat at the dining table, before following suit. They sat facing each other, Minamino staring down at his own interlaced hand without speaking. Bond’s own hands rested lightly on the tabletop, twitching occasionally as if to reach for a weapon. A tick was forming in his clenched jaw, and he resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the table in his impatience. Finally, Minamino spoke.

“You should have already known by now that Q isn’t–”

“–human,” Bond said. “Yes, I managed to work that one out for myself.”

“We – Q and I – are kitsune. Fox spirits.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “From folklore?”

“Yes, from folklore,” Minamino said. “I was once known as Yoko Kurama, just as Q was once Kaminari. Demons and spirits – all of it is true. We’ve all been around for a very long time; you humans have just stopped noticing us in this world.”

 _This world_. “There’s more than one world?”

Minamino snorted. “Of course there is. The human world is only one plane of existence. There’s also the Spirit World, where your soul goes after you experience an earthly death. The Spirit World acts as a buffer between the human world and the Dark Realm, where demon-kind reside. Surely he’s told you this if you were sent on this mission?”

“It never came up in conversation.” Bond leaned back, draping an arm across the back of his seat, one ankle coming up to rest on the other knee. “Neither, I believe, did his acquaintance with you.”

Minamino met his gaze without flinching. “You can trust me, Mr Bond.”

“I prefer to decide that for myself.” He nodded towards the stairs. “How do you know Q?”

“We crossed paths in the dark realm, many years ago, while I was still in my demon form and before he came to the human world,” Minamino said.

“Old friends, then.”

“Hardly.” The corner of Minamino’s lip twitched. “Acquaintances – I guess you could call us partners in crime, of a sort. Worked a job or two together before we lost contact. I haven’t seen him in several hundred years.”

“Job?”

“Stealing magical artefacts, mostly.”

“You’re a thief, then.”

“Ex-thief. I’m just a regular salaryman, these days.” Bond scoffed. “I am, for all intents and purposes, a regular human being. There is nothing to refute that I am not one hundred percent human.”

“The fact that you’re several hundred years old would.”

Minamino smiled, resting his chin on his clasped hands. “My spirit may be, but this body is human.”

“And I don’t suppose you’d tell me how,” Bond said. Minamino shrugged.

“It’s no secret.” The smile disappeared. “I possessed it, while it was still a foetus within my mother’s womb. Fused my spirit with the growing body, and became one with it.”

“You stole the body of an unborn _child_.” Bond’s stomach churned at the thought.

“I suppose you could say that.” This time, Minamino’s smile held a tinge of melancholy. “It certainly felt like that at first. But I needed time to recover from my injuries, hide from my pursuers, and this was the only way to perfectly disguise myself as a human. Over time, the distinction between Yoko Kurama and Minamino Shuichi grew less distinct – now, we are one and the same.”

 “And Q?” Bond asked, after a moment’s pause. “Did he –”

Minamino laughed and shook his head.

“Q took a – _different_ path,” he said. “He chose to manifest, rather than possess a body. It takes a lot more power, and uses a lot more energy. Unfortunately for him, healing you drained the last of it.”

Minamino excused himself to patrol the perimeter and re-erect the barrier around the house. As soon as he’d stepped outside, Bond dug through the bags they’d left behind that morning. He needed a change of clothes, preferably a shower, but first he needed a phone.

 

 

 

 

 

The dial tone grated on his nerves with every cheerful ring. He gripped the phone closer to his ear and shifted his weight onto the other leg, periodically glancing up the stairs as he waited for the call to connect. He could hear Minamino moving about in the garden.

“Bond?” M’s voice crackled over the phone. “Where the hell have the two of you been? The extraction team went dark and we haven’t been able to get in contact with Q–”

“You knew,” he said without preamble. There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “You knew about Q.”

“Bond—”

“How long have you known?” Silence. He let out a frustrated growl, running a hand through his hair. “How can you expect me to do my job if you don’t—”

“Is he alright?” M said, interrupting him mid-sentence. The urgency in her voice made him pause. “Is he injured? Bond? Answer me!”

He let his head fall back to rest against the wall. “Our transport out of the building was bombed. Q got us out, but he’s now…”

He trailed off, listening to M pace back and forth. The sound of glass tinkering, followed by liquid splashing, permeated the silence. His stomach clenched, wishing sorely for a glass of scotch.

“Do you have the asset?” she asked finally.

“It’s with Q,” he told her.

“Good. Good, alright. We’ll send in another evac team to get you both out of there immediately.”

“He may need a few more days before he can be moved, ma’am,” Bond said. “We’re laying low until he is strong enough to make the journey back to London.”

M breathed heavily through her nose. “You aren’t safe there. Neither of you.”

“We won’t be safe anywhere, not with a demon on our trail,” he retorted. “But we’re sitting ducks until Q recovers. Don’t suppose you have a demon fighting squad hidden away in the depths of MI6?”

“Don’t get smart with me, Double-oh Seven,” M snapped. “We’ll send backup, an armed escort to your location. They’ll be there in three days. Stay on your guard and report back immediately with new developments.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He tucked the phone back into his pocket, just as Minamino appeared in the doorway. Their eyes met across the room, tension thick in the air; Minamino was the first to look away.

“The barrier is holding strong,” he said, making his way to the table where their things had been placed, ready for them to leave at a moment’s notice. “It should hold out for a few days, barring a direct attack.”

Bond followed him. “And will they?”

“It’s hard to say,” Minamino said honestly. He rested his palms flat on the wooden surface and looked up at Bond. “My guess is yes, most likely. The demon wanted Q’s jewel for a reason. And now that he knows Q is here too, he’d want the whole package.”

“What happens if he gets it?”

“Then we are all in big trouble.”

 

 

 

 

 

They spent the next two days inside the cottage, not straying beyond the doors except to check that the barrier was still structurally sound. Q and Minamino spent most of the time together, thinking of ways to fortify the cottage against demon attacks, while Bond busied himself cleaning and maintaining their weapons. The repetition soothed his agitated nerves and kept his hands busy; he found it also stopped him from wandering over to the upstairs bedroom and knocking on the closed door.

“If you keep cleaning that gun, you’re going to end up scouring right through it.”

Minamino sat down on the other side of the table, watching Bond as he reassembled the Walther with quick, practised motions.

“Better than sitting here doing nothing.” He reached for the Beretta. It wasn’t his weapon of choice, but it hadn’t been used and they still had six fully loaded magazines on hand, which was more than he could say for the Walther.

“You could talk to Q,” Minamino suggested. “He’s been asking for you.”

“I don’t want to disturb him,” Bond replied, not looking up from his task. “There’s nothing I can do for him right now.”

“Being there for him would be a start.” Bond scowled when one of the pins in the hammer got stuck partway. “He needs to know you’re alright.”

“I’m fine.”

He could almost hear Minamino rolling his eyes. “You’re not as good a liar as you think you are, Mr Bond. You haven’t stepped foot inside that room in two days. Did you think we didn’t know you’ve been avoiding him?”

“Can you blame me?” Bond swore and pushed the disassembled gun to one side. He needed a drink, a very stiff one. “Right now, I’m not even sure if I know who or _what_ is up there in that room.”

“Why don’t you take time to find out?” MInamino asked gently. “You’ve seen him, spoken to him. You know he won’t hurt you.”

He left Bond at the table, staring up at the empty staircase.

 

 

 

 

 

He stood outside Q’s door, wary of the faint crackling sounds that were still audible through the wood. It was not the same, thunderous explosion from before, but the constant, almost gentle hum of a charged current, punctuated by small snaps where the electricity escaped. Q in his true spirit form lay beyond that simple wooden door.

He’d heard stories about the kitsune in the Navy. There were long months in Osaka that he spent listening to elderly townsfolk entertaining children with stories about fox demons taking human form to marry unsuspecting humans, only to feed off their life force and consume them. Masters of disguise and deception. Beautiful, cunning creatures. _Mischief and mayhem_ , they would say with a sagely nod. _You won’t know you’ve been tricked until it’s too late._

All those stories had ended the same way: the deception uncovered, and the kitsune forced to flee or be killed. He had never heard of kitsune saving people out of altruism. And yet Minamino’s words haunted him.

_The source of a kitsune’s power is its jewel, which only manifests when we are in human form. But this is also our weakness.  If it falls into the wrong hands, they can bind us to their will. Kitsune are powerful creatures, Mr Bond, you don’t want one of us as your enemy — willing or not._

_There are very few ways to kill a kitsune_. _One of them is to be devoured by an Oni. Q should have known better than to follow you to its den._

“Q? I’m coming in.”

The only response was a low growl, which Bond took as acquiescence. He pushed the door open. There, crouching low by the bed, was a fox the size of a small Labrador. Bolts of electricity crackled along the length of its body to the tip of its tails. It eyed Bond warily, tracking his slow progress into the room along the far wall.

 _Double-oh Seven_.

Bond barely suppressed a flinch at the strange echo of the disembodied voice. “Q?”

One of Q’s ears twitched. _Yes_.

“You weren’t speaking before.” Q huffed.

 _I wasn’t strong enough without the jewel_ , he said.

Bond took a cautious step forward, socked feet making no sound against the wooden floors. Q twitched again, but otherwise remained still, eyes tracking his every movement. He paused less than a metre away from where Q lay, uncertain.

“And now?” he asked.

 _Not yet_ , Q replied with a tiny shake of his head. _It’s a slow process. A few days, perhaps._

Bond frowned. “Can you be any more specific? We might not have a few days.”

 _So impatient._ One of Q’s tails made a sweep of the floor by Bond’s feet. _Now that I have my jewel, perhaps another four days. Two, at least._

“Two, then,” Bond said firmly. Q raised his head and glared, sparks dancing down his spine.

 _Ungrateful whelp_ , he chided, tossing his head. _If you are planning on staying, I’d prefer it if you took a seat and saved me a crick in the neck._

“Oh.” Bond blinked, surprised. He lowered himself with a grunt, until he was sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor. “Is this better?”

 _Much, thank you._ He leaned down to lick at his paw. _Now, ask your questions, Bond. I know you have them._

 

 

 

 

 

His name was _Ten no Kaminari_.

It meant heavenly thunder, named for the element from which he had been conceived over a thousand years ago. He’d grown up crossing between the Spirit and Demon realms at will, occasionally venturing into the human world with his siblings to cause mischief amongst its inhabitants for sport. As they’d grown older and came into their full powers, they went their separate ways.

He had left first, lured away by the prospect of excitement and adventure. He spent some time in the human realm in the bamboo forests on the outskirts of what would come to be known as Kyoto, before the war that saw the proud capital burned. And then he’d met Kurama.

Yoko Kurama was unlike any other kitsune he’d ever met. His power was dark and potent, more malice than mischief, a stark contrast to his own. Kurama had been young, then, still trying to make his name amongst demonkind as a thief, and he’d approached Kaminari with a confidence that came from the absolute certainty he had in his own power.

 _I’m going to steal from Lord Enma,_ he’d said. How could he pass up such a challenge? The chance to rob the king of the Spirit World did not come by often, and he’d always been fond of puzzles. Kurama had been after the treasure – an iron fan that was said to be able to whip up tornados and hurricanes in one sweep – but _he’d_ gotten the biggest thrill from creating workarounds for each safeguard, and breaking through the layers and layers of spells and enchantments.

They made a great team, Kurama had told him afterward. Maybe they should stick together. But he’d not been interested in acquiring power or wealth. They parted ways; Yoko Kurama would become a famous legend, while he developed a reputation for being the most powerful thunder elemental in all three realms, wielding a power so great it could break through any barrier ever created.

He picked up jobs with other teams for the thrill of the challenge, but never stayed for the loot, and he had strict rules about the types of jobs he worked.

 

 

 

 

 

 _That’s probably what got me in trouble_ , Q mused. _My skills were highly sought after, usually by those with less than honourable intentions. I refused more job offers than I took, especially those that would harm more than help._

“So they started targeting you instead,” Bond finished. It was a familiar tale: a highly skilled individual being targeted by unscrupulous folk because they refuse to compromise their integrity. “And one of them was this Yamanami Gozaburo?”

Q rested his snout on his paws, ears twitching. “Something like that. But he wasn’t after my skillset, or my assistance.”

“You.” Bond’s eyes widened in realisation. “He wanted _you_.”

 _My power_ , Q agreed. _He took me by surprise one night and managed to injure me. I fled here to the human world. That’s when M – before she was M – found me and took me in. Helped disguise me as a regular human being. Got me a job at MI6._

“The perfect disguise,” Bond said. “He wouldn’t have been able to find you as a human, unless he had the jewel.”

Q’s tails lashed about in quick, jerky movements. _That’s why he took it. Because he knew I would have to come after it, and I’m at my weakest without it._

Bond drew his knees up to rest his arms, leaning back against the side of the bed with a frustrated sigh. A trap. That was all. A bloody trap to capture Q at his weakest, and they’d walked straight into it. He ground the heels of his palms against his forehead. He needed a fucking drink. Something nudged his ankle; he looked down to see Q bumping his nose gently against his foot.

 _There’s nothing we can do about it now._ He said. _I would have had to come either way. And I’d rather have been here with you, than waiting uselessly back in London._

“But at least then you’d be safe from him.”

 _But you wouldn’t be. And MI6 needs you alive, Bond._ I _need you alive._

He inched closer until he could rest his head on Bond’s arm and chest, whiskers tickling the back of Bond’s hand. Bond reached over with his free hand to brush his fingers over the slope of Q’s head; Q’s eyes slid shut as the fingers move up to his ears. Contentment rumbled through his small body like rolling thunder, sending sparks dancing down his spine. Bond jerked his hand back, startled.

Q opened his eyes and watched him calmly. His head didn’t move from its resting place even though Bond’s entire body had tensed beneath him. He stayed completely still as Bond brought his hand back to hover over his fur, eyes drifting closed. Bond forced himself to breathe, heart pounding in his chest, when the sparks skipped over the back of his hands, little more than a ticklish sensation across his knuckles. His touches grew surer after that; brushes turned to caresses and then to confident strokes, until he sat propped up against the bed, petting Q as if he’d been doing it all his life.

“Back in the forest, after the crash…you saved my life,” he said softly. Q hummed, tails sweeping lazily against the floor. “I never said thank you.”

The curl of Q’s tail around his leg was answer enough.

 

 

 

 

 

Bond woke up the following morning to a warm weight across his chest, and something furry tickling his feet. He frowned and turned his head, only to get a mouthful of – _hair_? He opened his eyes with a sharp intake of breath, his whole body rigid and alert. The body in his arms shifted languidly; a soft mouth pressed against his collarbone with a tired groan. He looked down.

Q was nestled under his right arm, half sprawled over Bond in sleep, his face tucked into the juncture of Bond’s neck and shoulder. Gone were the fur and sparks, replaced by pale skin and dark hair, illuminated by the soft, sleepy glow from the jewel resting between their bodies. Bond brought his hand up to the base of Q’s neck, tracing the delicate skin with his fingertips; he followed the line of his spine down to the small of his back before pausing. There, where the tailbone should have been, were five tails that sat over the curve of his buttocks.

He withdrew his hand when Q stirred into wakefulness, blinking sleep from his eyes.

“James?” he murmured. “What time is it?”

Bond glanced out of the window. The sun had barely started to peek out over the treetops, the sky only just beginning to brighten at the edges of the frame. Early, then. Q mumbled indistinctly when told, throwing his arm over Bond’s torso as he stretched with a low groan. Bond waited patiently for him to settle, ignoring the flutters in his chest at the sleepy little noises in Q’s throat.

“Q…” he murmured. “Q, your tails.”

“Hmm?” Said tails gave a lazy twitch. “What about them?”

“You still have your tails,” Bond told him, rising up on his elbows to peer down at said appendages. “And they’re tickling my leg.”

“What are you talking about…” Q pushed himself up with a grumble, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes widened as he snapped into full consciousness. “Oh. Oh bother.”

The tails vanished with a little shake. He turned back around and froze as their gazes caught, faces only a breath apart. This close, Bond could see the flecks of grey in Q’s wide eyes, and the sharpness of his cheekbones that belied his vulpine nature. He traced those contours with the tip of one finger, along that smooth brow and across the prominent cheeks until they hovered just above Q’s parted lips.

“Bond,” Q murmured. Warm lips brushed against Bond’s fingertip, sending a tingle down his arm to his chest. “ _James_.”

“Q.” Bond smiled. “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

A delightful blush dusted Q’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. He turned to nuzzle against Bond’s palm, inhaling deeply. “So are you.”

“How are you feeling?” Bond asked, now running his fingers through the mess of curls. “You’re human again. That must be a good sign.”

Q hummed happily. “I must have shifted some time during the night. It happens occasionally. It’s a very good sign.”

They lay there for a while, Q’s head resting on Bond’s chest, one hand fiddling idly with the buttons of Bond’s shirt, the other curved around the jewel protectively. The confusion and warring emotions from the past few days seemed to melt away with the rising sun, leaving Bond filled with a sense of calm and contentment.

“You know,” he said, stroking Q’s shoulder. “I never thought you’d let me do this.”

“Hm? Do what?” Q asked. He sounded slightly dazed. Bond chuckled.

“Lie here, holding you,” he replied. Q propped his chin up on Bond’s sternum to look at him in the eye, confused. “I thought I was rather an annoying pest in your side, to be quite honest.”

Q lifted an eyebrow. “Who says you aren’t still an annoying pest in my side?”

“Well…” Bond brushed his thumb over one elegant cheekbone and smiled. “You risked your life to save me. And you’re lying here with me now – naked, I might add. Admit it. You wouldn’t have pictured this either, even a week ago.”

“Well the nudity wasn’t exactly by choice,” Q retorted in good humour. “The whole clothing thing doesn’t work with shape-shifting. As for saving your life…”

He cupped a hand around Bond’s jaw and stared intently into his eyes. “I would risk my life a thousand times over to save yours. I would do it all again in a heartbeat.”

Bond surged forward, pushing until they were both sitting up and Q was in his lap, wide-eyed and pliant. The jewel rolled onto the floor with a heavy thud, but neither of them paid it any mind. He opened his mouth, but his throat had tightened and the words would not come. His heart was full to bursting, at once both terrifying and exhilarating as he studied Q as if seeing him for the first time. He remembered this feeling, remembered dark hair and bewitching eyes filled with the same fierce devotion; all he saw now was Q before him, pledging love and loyalty.

He cradled Q’s head in his hands, fingers threading through those mussed curls and stroking the delicate line of his neck as he brought their lips together. Q gasped, which came out as an adorable little squeak that Bond devoured greedily; his hands clutched at the collar of Bond’s shirt for balance. His lips were warm and chapped, and moved against his with surety and eagerness. Bond slid one hand down the length of his back to bring their hips together with a jolt. Q laughed into his mouth and wrapped his legs around Bond’s waist.

“Mm…we still have to – to work out a plan,” Q murmured between kisses. He tilted his head to the side as Bond mouthed along his jaw, trembling at the hot breath in his ear. “We have…lots of–”

“You think too much,” Bond growled, nipping at his earlobe. Q whimpered. “I’ll have to rectify that.”

He toppled them over so that Q was lying sprawled on the bed beneath him, lips swollen and face flushed, looking thoroughly debauched. Bond grinned down at him as he removed his shirt and tossed it over the edge of the bed before lowering himself down to cover Q’s body with his own. Q sighed as their bare skin came into contact and wound his arms and legs around Bond’s torso.

“I do believe I could make time for distractions,” he said with a wicked little smile.

Bond laughed and obliged.

 

 

 

 

 

Afterwards, they exchanged quick kisses and teasing touches as they dressed. The sun was high in the sky when they finally made it downstairs, where Minamino was seated at the living room table. He raised a questioning eyebrow when they walked in together, eyeing their clasped hands and secretive smiles, and turned back to his book without a word. Q flushed and tugged Bond into the kitchen to raid the fridge.

Minamino had spread a large sheet of paper over the table and was in the process of marking up a diagram when they joined him.

“What’s this?” Bond asked, bending down to inspect it.

“A trap,” Minamino replied. He pointed at the rectangle in the middle of the page. “This is the cottage. Right now, it’s completely sealed off by the barrier, but you can be sure Yamanami will have discovered our location by now.”

“The barrier will hold though,” Q added. “But that doesn’t matter. We _want_ him to come inside.”

Bond stared. “Have you found a way to kill him, then?”

Q and Minamino exchanged grim looks before Minamino left the room. Worry began gnawing at the pit of Bond’s stomach as he watched him go, the memory of Q on his knees, overpowered, still fresh in his memory. He hadn’t been there to witness the confrontation, but the ease with which even the lackeys had kept Q pinned was a reason for concern.

“One of us could probably hold our own against him for a while,” Q said. “But not for long. Two of us will be able to overpower him, keep him pinned long enough for a third person – you – to kill him.”

“That might be difficult,” Bond said drily. “Unless I have latent demon-slaying skills MI6 hasn’t told me about, or fancy gadgets like that disc of yours.”

“That disc was just a red herring,” Q told him with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No gadget could ever replicate the effects of real magic. No, we’re doing this the old fashioned way.”

As if on cue, Minamino returned with a long item wrapped in cloth. He set it on the table carefully before unwrapping it to reveal a katana, its blade gleaming in the afternoon light. Its dark blue handle wrap ended in a polished silver pommel, with a matching guard embellished with a dragon winding along its edges.

“How are you with a sword?” Minamino asked.

 “Adequate.” Bond picked it up and admired the curve of the blade. Q snorted, which amused Bond to no end. “I’ll be fine. Shall I just run him through, then?”

“Ah, no. Not quite.” Q scratched the back of his neck. “Cut off his head. It’s the quickest way.”

Bond stepped away from the table, holding the sword in both hands, the blade tilted forward. He shifted his left foot back until he could comfortably balance his weight, and then sprung forward, swinging the sword down as he did. The blade sang through the air, slicing through the chair in front of him with virtually no resistance; it cleaved like butter beneath a hot knife.

“Where did you get this?” he asked. There were no scratch marks, chips, or defects upon closer inspection. “I’ve tried katana before. This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s because it’s spelled,” Q explained. “It belonged to a legendary demon hunter who infused his own spirit into the blade when he died, to ensure his descendants would carry on his legacy and protect others from demon kind.”

The hilt hummed in his hand, sending tingles along his arms. It was accompanied by a surge of strength and a feeling of invincibility he found slightly unnerving. “So it’s possessed by this demon hunter’s spirit?”

“It won’t possess you,” Minamino assured him. “But it will infuse you with the strength you need to slay the demon.”

“Alright then,” Bond said dubiously. “I’ll chop the bastard’s head off with this magic sword of yours.”

“This _magic sword_ is a priceless artefact we had to beg Koenma to lend us,” Q told him sternly. “So you had better bring it back in one piece, Bond, else I’ll have your guts for garters for putting me in debt to the Prince of Hell.”

 

 

 

 

 

The plan was simple. Minamino would bring down the barrier at sunrise, giving them enough time to set up everything they needed before Gozaburo detected them. When he arrived, the two of them would set upon him and lure him into the house, where Bond would be waiting to activate the trap. There, Q and Minamino would keep him pinned down in the spell circle to give Bond the chance to cut off his head.

“Once inside the trap, only one of us can dismantle it,” Minamino warned them. “So it’s in our best interest to end it as quickly as possible.”

“What if he brings reinforcements?” Bond asked. He helped Q move the table and chairs out of the way so Minamino could draw the trapping spell on the wooden floor. “He doesn’t look the type to go anywhere without his lackeys.”

“That’s why we chose the house,” Q replied. “The moment he steps through that door, we can seal off the house again so they won’t be able to get inside. Those who do will be easy to handle.”

“So much for running and hiding.”

Q elbowed him in the side. “Shut up. You’d be terrible at running and hiding. At least now you can tell the others that you’ve fought real demons.”

 _Oh shit_.

“While we’re on the subject…” Bond drew Q to the side with a hand on his elbow. “We’ll need to inform M. She’s sending reinforcements, who should be arriving today.”

Q swore.

“They won’t be able to get through the barrier,” he said. “Call M. Let her know the plan. If Gozaburo does bring backup, they may be able to handle it.”

To say M was not pleased would have been an understatement. She swore so colourfully it put sailors to shame, cursing them and their ill-timed plans. Across the room, Q gave him a look of sympathy as he helped Minamino finalise the spell.

“Get Q on the line,” M snapped.

“Yes, ma’am.” He held his hand over the receiver and beckoned Q over. “Your turn.”

Q glared at him and took the phone. Bond breathed a sigh of relief as Q walked away, cradling the phone to his ear and speaking in low, hushed tones. Now that almost everything was in place, his stomach started simmering with a mixture of nerves and trepidation, a feeling he hadn’t had for many years. He circled the room to where he had left the katana, careful not to tread on the symbols still drying on the floor. It had been left unwrapped this time, but a wooden sheath had been left beside it; Bond slid the blade into the blue casing and tested its weight in his hand.

“It’s impeccably balanced,” Q said, coming up from behind him. He slid the phone back into Bond’s trouser pocket. “Specially forged for demon-slaying. It’s much older than I am.”

Bond chuckled. He reached an arm back to draw Q close enough to kiss his temple. Q nuzzled him back sweetly.

“M said we were a couple of right bastards for doing this without her approval,” he said. “The backup team won’t be here in time, so I told her they can help with the clean up.”

“You didn’t!” Bond exclaimed. He laughed; it chased away the growing jitters in his chest. “You are a braver man than I.”

“I find you terribly brave,” Q said. He covered Bond’s hand, the one holding the katana, with his own, face sombre. “I’m sorry to ask so much of you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is my job.” Bond lifted their joined hands to his mouth and pressed a long, searing kiss to Q’s fingers. “I still don’t think you should be out there when you’re the one he wants.”

“That’s precisely why I must,” Q argued. “I’m the bait. And don’t get riled up about the word choice, you know it’s true. There’s no one else for the job.”

“Still doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Bond brushed those messy curls out of the way so he could press a kiss to Q’s forehead. “Be safe out there.”

“And same to you.”

 

 

 

 

 

The barrier came down at dawn.

Q and Minamino had headed outside before then to get into position, leaving Bond behind to play the waiting game. He paced the floor restlessly, circling the inner border of the trap spell. He fiddled with the pommel of the katana and traced the outline of the dragon on the hilt guard; twice he checked his earpiece in case a technical fault rendered Q unable to contact him. But everything appeared frustratingly fine.

“Doing alright, Bond?” Q’s voice came through the earpiece. Bond checked the clock; only twenty minutes had passed. “Not getting too bored, I hope.”

“Well, I’m finding ways to pass the time,” Bond said irritably. He considered the chairs. “We don’t need these chairs anymore, do we?”

“Just because you have a katana doesn’t mean you should wave it around all the time,” Q said. He sighed. “There’s no sign of Yamanami yet, but they’ll be here before long. I’ve been sending out little pulses of energy through the jewel to attract attention for a while now.”

“Do you think he’ll take the bait?”

Q’s laugh held a twinge of bitterness. “If there’s one thing I know about oni, it’s that they can’t resist temptation. Gozaburo will be no different.”

Another hour passed by without fanfare. Bond alternated between practising sword strokes and chatting to Q, who kept him updated on what was happening outside. It helped to keep busy, to take his mind away from the impending danger that he could not see, that he was forced to watch Q tackle without him. His blood boiled at the thought of being here, helpless, while the battle raged around him.

In the end, it took two more hours of anxious waiting for someone to appear. Q’s motion sensors had captured them at the south edge of the forest – only five of them for now, he said over the earpiece, but more were likely to follow after this initial scouting party.

“Is Gozaburo among them?” Bond asked, gripping the katana tightly.

“No, no I can’t detect any traces of him,” Q replied. “We’ll just have to take these ones down first.”

“Give them a little scare,” Minamino added, amusement carrying over the earpiece loud and clear. “Draw him out as quickly as we can.”

“Sounds like a plan. Bond?” Q addressed him directly. “We’re going offline until further notice. Standby.”

He clenched his fists.

“Alright.”

The line went dead. A frustrated growl tore itself from his throat at the sound of the soft click; he picked up the closest chair and threw it against the wall, where it shattered.

 

 

 

 

 

Gozaburo’s arrival was heralded by a thunderclap so loud it shook the cottage from its very foundations. Bond raced to the window in time to see a second bolt pierce the ground not a hundred metres away, close enough that he caught a flash of silver, followed closely by a red blur, darting through the treetops in his direction.

He backed away from the window quickly, positioning himself in the centre of the trap spell. A moment later, Minamino burst through the back door. He was holding a long green whip, studded with thorns, which he used to slice clean through several winged demons that had followed him inside.

“He’s here,” he said without preamble. “Get ready.”

Bond braced himself as Q came crashing through the window in a shower of wood and glass. He tucked himself into a tight ball as he transformed back into human shape, rolling to the side clutching the jewel just as Gozaburo tore through the wall with his iron club swinging. Q scrambled over to the edge of the circle; on the other side, Minamino closed in, lightning-fast.

Q and Minamino slammed their hands down. As soon as their hands touched the floor, the spell rose from the wood in smoky tendrils, curving over their heads to enclose the four of them in a gaseous dome. Electricity crackled menacingly across its surface. But Bond’s attention was caught on the creature that they had caught in their trap.

Yamanami Gozaburo had shed his human face entirely. His fangs now extended below his lower lip, reaching for his chin, his wild hair had turned white, and the horns had lengthened into sharp, deadly points. His mouth stretched into an open-mouth, grotesque grin to accommodate the fangs and, Bond recalled with barely concealed revulsion, to swallow larger prey.

“Are you going to kill me, puny human?” Gozaburo cackled. His voice grated on Bond’s ears like nails on a chalkboard. “I eat humans like you for breakfast.”

He swung the massive iron club over his head and charged. Bond sidestepped him neatly, but when he made for the neck, Gozaburo whipped the club around and would have clipped him on the shoulder if he hadn’t brought the katana up in time to block the blow. For a moment, he was afraid the blade would snap under the stress, but it held firm and did not yield.

“You got yourself a magic sword, have you?” Gozaburo pressed forward; they were now so close that Bond could smell his putrid breath. “I’ve lost count of the number of them I’ve broken over the years.”

“Must have rusted over from the smell of your breath,” Bond said, gritting his teeth against the strain.

Something darted across the edges of his vision, circling the two of them. He bore down on the katana with all his strength; he was a good head taller than Gozaburo, which proved useful in that moment. Gozaburo grunted and pushed back harder, the club sliding up along the length of the blade with a hair-raising shriek. One of his hands curved into razor-sharp talons and lashed out –

Bond stepped back with a shout of pain, drawing his katana up and away, clutching at his torso. Four long gashes ran down the entire right side of his body; it was bleeding sluggishly, but the blood was red. Clean. The tip of the blade nicked Gozaburo as he moved back, sending the demon stumbling backwards as well.

Q was on him in an instant, morphing into fox form mid-leap. He latched onto the arm holding the iron club and bit down; Bond swore he could hear bones cracking and flesh tearing apart under the assault. Gozaburo howled and shook him off, sending him flying into the barrier. Q screamed and dropped to the floor, twitching.

“Q!” Bond stumbled to his side. “Q, are you alright?”

Minamino cracked the whip in his hand, tangling it with the club in Gozaburo’s hand and yanked – the force of it, combined with the injury inflicted by Q, wrenched it from his grasp. It hit the barrier behind Bond’s head and clattered to the floor. Now unarmed and bleeding from the arm and cheek, Gozaburo crouched on the ground and snarled, baring his claws.

“Lesson one,” Minamino told him with a smile. “Never drop your weapon.”

Gozaburo lunged for him, slashing and hacking, but Minamino delivered a smooth uppercut that knocked him backward. He dug his talons into the floor to ground himself, scoring deep marks into the wood, stopping just shy of the barrier. As soon as he skidded to a halt, Gozaburo propelled himself forward once more. Bond gripped the katana; Q nipped at his sleeve.

_Not yet…not yet…not yet…_

And then he saw it: tendrils twisting and crawling out from the shallow cut on Gozaburo’s cheek, creeping along his jaw and neck, and from the torn flesh in his arm. Bond watched in horror as black tendrils thickened to vines that roped around flesh and beneath skin, rendering the demon completely immobile in its crushing grasp.

“A Death Plant–!” Gozaburo choked; his eyes bulged from its sockets as the plant’s grip on his neck tightened. “When did you–?”

 _Lesson two, never take your eyes off your opponent_. Q rose to his feet, leaning heavily on Bond’s knee to remain upright.

“What’s it going to do to him?” Bond asked.

“Once I give the order, the Death Plant will blossom and flower,” Minamino said. His eyes never left Gozaburo’s. “And when it does, it will rip him limb from limb.”

“And he’ll be dead?”

He shrugged. “If he’s lucky. Sometimes, if there’s enough power left in him, he could stay alive in a dismembered state.”

Bond watched as Gozaburo whimpered in fear, struggling in vain against the plant as it crept slowly towards his face.  He started babbling – promises never to devour kitsune again, never to covet Q’s jewel, if they would spare him. He pleaded for his life, offered to capture other demons for them, swore to stay away from the human world if they would rescind the command to bloom. For the first time Bond felt a sick pity for the pathetic creature, twisted and grotesque as he was in that moment.

He looked down at the blade, felt it sing beneath his hand, an echo of the spirit imbued within, calling for blood. When he looked up again, Gozaburo had stopped babbling and was watching him eagerly with beady eyes.

 _Do it,_ a voice murmured. Phantom lips brushed against his ear; he flinched. _Do it. Kill him._

A strange numbness settled over him as the words echoed in his mind. He lifted the blade above his head. Gozaburo grinned, eyes glowing red.

“Wait–!”

He swung.

 

 

 

 

 

He was weightless. He drifted along, his limbs lighter than air, mind blissfully blank as he slowly opened his eyes. The sunlight filtered through the clouds in the sky; he squinted and lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the glare. But the light passed straight through his hand.

He sat bolt upright and held out both his hands, turning them over and then back again, panic clawing at his throat when he realised he could see his legs through them. Which were dangling in mid-air. He flailed his arms and fell backwards – only, he kept falling back further and further, until he was dangling upside down.

“James! _James_!” he heard Q scream. “No, no, no, no – wake up, come on…”

Below him, Q was on the ground, clutching at a body lying prostrate on the floor. All he could see from this angle was an outstretched arm, beside which lay a gleaming silver sword, stained with black blood. With some effort, he managed to right himself in order to drift closer, dread filling his stomach like molten lead as he realised who exactly the body belonged to –

“No,” he breathed. “I’m _dead_?”

“Bingo!” a female voice chirped.

He whirled around and came face-to-face with a young woman. She had long, unnaturally pale hair that was tied back with a large purple bow, the same colour as the obi wrapped around her dark pink kimono. She was beaming at him from her perch on top of a broomstick. He reached instinctively for his Walther, only he didn’t have it because his body was down _there_ –

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” She held up her hands to placate him. “I’m here to help you.”

“You – who _are_ you?” he demanded.

“My name is Botan,” she said cheerfully. “I work for Lord Enma, the King of Hell. I ferry human souls to the Spirit World.”

“Botan…” He’d heard the name, heard her voice before. His eyes widened in realisation. “You’re the one from the forest. The one talking to Q.”

She clapped her hands in glee. “You remembered! You were in really bad shape back then, so I didn’t think you’d know me – guess Q really was right about you being special.”

They both looked back down at where Q was still desperately trying to rouse Bond. Minamino stood a little further away, face drawn and eyes averted, silent. The barrier was gone, leaving the floor around them blackened and burnt; at the edge of the circle lay the mangled corpse of Yamanami Gozaburo, scorched beyond recognition save for the severed head that lay beside it.

“How much do you remember about what happened?” Botan asked him.

He frowned. “We were fighting. They had him trapped by this – this Death Plant inside him. And a voice. I heard a voice.”

He couldn’t remember anything else beyond that moment. Frustration welled up inside him; he clenched his fists, grit his teeth and fought the urge to scream. Botan laid a hand on his shoulder and looked at him with large, sorrowful eyes.

“Gozaburo put a compulsion spell on you,” she told him gently. “He knew he was going to die, but he wasn’t going out without a fight. So he unleashed his full power the very moment you beheaded him. Destroyed the barrier and blasted a hole through the roof. You were caught in the explosion.”

He was dead. His body was _down there_ on the ground, while he was _up here_ , floating above it all as Q wept. A hysterical laugh bubbled up from his chest. The one time he hadn’t caused the explosion. The one time he’d not been central to the mission. Oh, the irony was not lost on him. But still his heart ached as he watched Q cradle his body, uncaring of his own nudity, begging Bond to open his eyes even as his body cooled.

He turned back to Botan.

“What happens now?” he asked. “Do I follow you into whatever afterlife happens now? Or is it reincarnation – I’m never quite sure which one people go for nowadays.”

“It’s up to you.” She levelled a serious look in his direction. “Do you really want to go?”

He shrugged. “Got no choice, haven’t I? I know how this works. I die, you take me away.”

“It’s never stopped you before,” she pointed out. “I heard your hobby is resurrection.”

“Yes well, resurrection is a lot easier when you’re not floating metres above your own dead body,” he said drily. “This looks like a pretty permanent arrangement to me.”

She tutted.

“It doesn’t have to be,” she said. He froze, staring.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…there have been exceptions to the rules,” she said slowly, tapping her index finger against her bottom lip in thought.

He could scarcely believe his ears. “You’re saying that–”

“Given that your cause of death was rather unusual, Koenma is willing to grant you your life back under certain conditions,” she concluded. “If you decide to go back, that is. You don’t have to.”

He could leave. He could follow Botan to the Spirit World and leave all of this behind. There would be no more missions, no more killing, no more pain. No more constantly looking over his shoulder, paranoid about the next time an old enemy would come to exact revenge. He could be free and it could be so _easy_. Only –

“What happens to Q?”

Botan’s face falls. “He’s immortal. Unless he’s killed, or kills himself, he’ll continue to live, whether it be in this world, or another.”

Below them, Q pushed himself upright, wiping his eyes. The jewel in his hand started to glow brighter as he lay it over Bond’s chest. Bond watched as the injuries gradually faded from his body, from the smallest scrapes to the horrific burns marring his face and torso, leaving him whole again. Q smiled.

“There,” he said, voice trembling. “Now you look more like yourself.”

Bond turned to back Botan.

“What are the conditions?”

 

 

 

 

 

Q took a deep, shuddering breath as the glow from the jewel faded, leaving Bond’s body lying before him, still in death. Without the injuries, he looked as though he were sleeping, if not for the torn and singed clothes. He’d need to change them, Q thought as he fiddled absently with the hem of Bond’s sleeve. Bond never want to be seen in anything less than a freshly pressed suit.

“There,” he said. “Now you look more like yourself.”

His breath hitched as he leaned over and brushed a stray lock of hair from Bond’s forehead. He would need to call M, make sure the backup team got through the barrier, supervise the clean-up, bring Bond back to London –

He leaned down to press their foreheads together. His throat seized, breaths clawing their way out of his throat with the tears that clung to his lashes.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered against Bond’s lips. “I can’t do this, James.”

A hand brushed against his shoulder, warm and familiar.

“It’s a good thing you don’t have to,” a hoarse voice murmured in his ear.

He pulled back as if he’d been scalded, eyes wide. Bond groaned; his eyes blinked open slowly, wincing in the afternoon sunlight filtering through the hole in the ceiling, eventually turning to focus on Q. A weak smile spread across his lips.

“Hello, darling.”

 

 

 

 

 

The backup team from MI6 had cleaned up all the smaller demons in the surrounding area by the time Minamino dispersed the barrier around the house. Tanner examined the winged creatures with distaste as they piled up the bodies.

“Did you know they’re called Tengu?” he asked Bond, nudging one with his foot. “I almost didn’t believe it when she told me these were real. Thought she was pulling my leg.”

Bond watched as Q, dressed in a set of oversized shirt and trousers, directed the clean-up from where he was seated on the front porch of the cottage. His face was grey and wane and he clutched the jewel clutched tightly in both his hands. The strain of holding onto his human form was almost visible, especially in the tightness of the skin around his eyes, the tension in his hunched shoulders. It was strange; Bond had never noticed these little details in him before.

His eyes drifted over to the cloth-covered mound near the trees. Gozaburo’s body had been mangled beyond recognition by the Death Plant, so they had covered it with a sheet before the clean-up crew arrived to spare them the ghastly sight.

“There’s not really any particular way to dispose of a demon’s body,” Minamino had mused. “Usually they’re just left for the carrion in the Demon World.”

Tanner had turned green. “Let’s burn them, shall we?”

So they had gathered up the bodies of the demons that had come with Gozaburo to attack the cottage. Most of them had died upon hitting the barrier around the house – low-level Tengu would not have been able to survive the impact, let alone break through a barrier conjured by two powerful spirits – and others had been caught out by MI6 reinforcements sweeping through the area. They would be burned under Minamino’s supervision.

But for now, he made his way over to the front porch and took a seat next to Q with a grunt. Q looked over at him, concerned.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“It’s taking a while to get back to full strength,” Bond said gruffly. He winced. “Dying takes a lot out of you, funnily enough.”

Q frowned. “Here, let me help.”

“No, don’t – it’s fine.” Bond caught his wrist as he reached over to place a hand over his chest. “You don’t have the energy to spare right now. This can hardly kill me.”

Q did not look convinced, but he nodded and started to pull his hand back. Bond tightened his grip, bringing their joined hands to his chest. The cold digits warmed under his touch, and he eased the weak tremors rubbing gentle circles into Q’s palm. As Q relaxed, he allowed Bond to draw him closer and tucked under the curve of his arm.

“James?”

Bond pressed a kiss to Q’s curls. “Yes, Q?”

“Are you alright with all this–” Q gestured vaguely with the hand holding the jewel.

“You mean all the magics and monsters?” Q nodded. “I won’t lie to you. I’m still not certain I understand everything that’s happened these past few days. And there are things that will need to be explained…”

“I understand.”

“…but I’d like to try,” Bond finished. He smiled at Q’s wide-eyed expression and took his other hand. “I’d like to know more about these worlds you come from. If you could find the time to show me.”

Q stared down at their joined hands and the jewel cupped between them in silence. Bond watched his expression flit between confusion, hesitation and fear, his own heart racing. After what felt like an eon of waiting, Q looked up at him with a smile.

“I would love nothing more,” he said.

“That's great!” another voice piped up cheerfully. They looked up to see Botan waving at them from her floating perch. “I mean, you don’t really get much of a choice about the otherworldly thing, James, but now you’ll have Q to show you!”

“What is she talking about?” Q asked, glaring at Botan in suspicion.

Bond rubbed the back of his neck with a pained grimace. He’d almost forgotten about that part.

“There were conditions to my resurrection,” he said reluctantly. “I have to work for the ruler of the Spirit World as a sort of…agent.”

“A Spirit Detective!” Botan corrected with a bright smile. “Investigating supernatural activities and vanquishing demons for Koenma. It’s a very important job that only the best can manage.”

Q stared at Bond, then at Botan, and back at Bond again in disbelief. Then he burst out laughing. Bond gathered himself up in indignation, and embarrassment, but before he could open his mouth to defend himself, Q leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“I think you’ll do marvellously,” he said.

“From Double-oh agent to Spirit Detective?” Bond snorted. “This should be fun.”

 

 

 

\--

 

Art by [Only_1_Truth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/)

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://besanii.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
